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Africa missed terribly the crude intimacy she had been forced to quell; it was wrought through her personality like knots blemishing an oak. Her feelings knew not malice or cunning, but she craved the affection that she had always dealt so freely to those around her. She pined, but shied too from the thought of shackles and chains. She was a willow-the-wisp, untethered and fickle, though in recent times that spirit had been tarnished by the greed of those who for whatever reason lusted after unwavering commitment- it was something she could not yet offer. No matter how cruelly they sought to manipulate.

Love...

Still she pondered the concept... the word. Like the flesh pink wound marring her shoulder, love was a scar through her mind. She shied from its affliction and its lack of compromise. As a girl, the bond between her parents had painted such a desirable fantasy that for most of her life Africa had been waiting, wishing and above all, watching for the moment which would mark the beginning of her own romantic union. She was an idealist; she always would be in many ways, cursed by the fables etched by her dream-weaver mother, gazing ever on with faithful eyes. He had crushed her greatest hope though, ruined the memory she had always aspired to, so quickly and so easily. Her heart resented him for it, and though often he had returned to perhaps salvage some form of the friendship which had been, the Starry-Eyed felt as though she could not forgive him. Not while his wrath rang still deafeningly through her vulnerable ears.

The evening was clear and the moon gazed quietly down upon her while she dabbled through the waves crumbling across the southern-mainland beach. Though she ached for companionship, she shied from the complications it brought and resolved there in private to enjoy the peace the darkening hours allowed. Silas watched on warily from the skeleton of a scorched tree still further up the shore, where once it had found rare nutrients in the clay-strewn soil flanking the Heart. He could feel the tension of her latest appointment straining through the simplicity of her mind; see the loneliness tight across her dappled hide, but there was naught he could do to ease the pressure building. Certainly he knew not where those she once called friends had gone. The small zephyr could only sympathise with her plight and act through the closeness of their bond.

Her stride was restless as she wandered still further from the bridge leading home. Even in the ever dimming half-light, she could see the sodden loam beneath was ugly. It was not golden or red like the splendour of wild desert hues, and it was sticky, sucking hungrily as each hoof rose from its muddy midst. There were no shells there to distract her, no pebbles to collect, smoothed by a lifetime beneath the churning current of the sea. Her whiskered nose lifted away with a sigh and she forced the roll of a shrug through her powerful, sloping shoulders. Africa was procrastinating again. It was time to head north, to trawl through those wandering the Threshold, and bring home those who fancied the lifestyle Dragon’s Throat offered. The young Sultana turned towards her waiting friend and smiled affectionately; jadedly. Really, she had not any time to lose.

Africa